White Crow
by MirrorMarch
Summary: A new house. New people. Bow and smile, go through the same, tired introduction: "Hello, my name is Natsume Takashi. Nice to meet you." It's always the same. Over and over. He's used to it. He never stays. He's like a white crow, forever alone, rejected at every turn...


_**White Crow**_

•

__A new house. New people. Bow and smile, go through the same, tired introduction: _"Hello, my name is Natsume Takashi. Nice to meet you." _

See the new room—_your room—_and tell them how much you like it. Settle in, put your belongings away like you mean to stay, like you _don't know _how soon you'll be leaving here.Get through that first terrible, awkward dinner; answer all their questions, pretend you're enjoying yourself. Ignore that shadow in the corner, ignore that voice that keeps calling,_ "I know you can see us. I know you can see us."_

How much longer can you hold out before they notice? Will it be a month this time? Two? How are they related to you again anyway? Does it _matter_? It won't last. You know that.

The day comes, just like it always does. Something happens, the monsters come, the yelling begins, the things that break in your presence so mysteriously, and then the whispering starts—the ones they think you can't hear even though you're _right there. _

_"What's the matter with him?"_

_ "He just wants attention."_

_ "Creepy."_

_ "Freak."_

_ "Liar."_

They don't want you anymore, but that's okay. You knew they wouldn't. They never want to keep you in the end. So you put up with it for a few more weeks: the fake smiles, the chipper greetings coming from stiff mouths, the eyes that always look at you with fear. Sometimes they're gracious in their fright, sometimes they hit you, "forget" to feed you. It's all the same to you. It'll end the same way no matter what they do.

Then it happens. You come home from school, and they're in the kitchen, just _waiting. _They greet you like always, ask how your day was, and then it starts.

_"Listen, Takashi-kun, we've been talking… How'd you like to go to my brother's house? My sister's? My cousin's?"_

They say it like it's a big surprise, like you should be jumping at the idea, but you know the truth by now: they're getting rid of you… And there's nothing you can do but ride the wave wherever it takes you.

So you thank them—what else can you do?—and you pack your things, the ones you arranged so carefully your first day here while your heart starts to _hurt _because somewhere in the back of your traitorous mind, you had begun to think, _"what if this is the one? What if they decide they want to keep me this time?"_

Stupid, stupid, _stupid!_

But it's time now, and you're standing outside a stranger's car, a stranger you'll be living with for the next however-long they decide to keep you.

A new house. New people. Bow and smile, go through the same, tired introduction: _"Hello, my name is Natsume Takashi. Nice to meet you."_

Rinse, repeat. Over and over.

And every time you have to pretend that it doesn't hurt, that this doesn't bother you because, really, by now it shouldn't.

That, at least, really _is _a lie.

You remember a book you once read. It was about birds. You'd always liked birds, the way they flew so freely wherever they wanted. You wished you could be a bird…

You remember the page about crows, the words that jumped out at you on that page: _"White crows are always alone. Their bright feathers attract unwanted attention from predators, so their own kind drive them away and will sometimes attack them. They live out solitary lives, never making a family because of their mutation…"_

You cried over that page. You didn't mean to, but those words hurt so much, like needles stabbing your gut.

_Alone. Unwanted attention. Solitary. Mutation._

It's you. A white crow in a world of blacks. Black crows have families. Black crows belong. Black crows aren't alone. White crows… White crows shouldn't even _exist._

But you go on, stubbornly, with a tiny hope that dims further and further with every year that passes, every house that never becomes a _home. _Every few months, when the next move comes, when the next relative takes you in then passes you on, those words come back to you.

_White crow._

You begin to wonder if just being alone would be better for everyone. It would be less trouble for them, and you wouldn't be hurt so much anymore.

The days pass by, and each one takes its toll on your body. You look thin in the mirror, pale as the ghosts that only you can see. Your hair's gotten longer, messy, shading those strange eyes of yours that always set people back when they see them for the first time… You don't care, though. They wouldn't see you any differently even if you were the picture of perfection. You don't want to stop caring, but it's gotten _so hard _to even _try _now.

The incidents keep coming—youkai attacks that leave nothing but bruises and broken possessions in their wake—and the family you live with is angry again. They don't know, it's not their fault that they can't see, but the accusations and the looks of fear still sting. You hate it.

That night, you overhear _that _conversation between the adults, the same one you've heard time and time again.

_"He's not a bad kid, but the things he does… Maybe… Do you think those relatives of yours can take him?"_

You run.

The condo you live in now is tall, but you fly down the stairs, uncaring of the cold as you sprint out onto the street, streetlamps like spotlights shining down on you. That crushing feeling is back—the hurt, the hole that digs a little deeper into your heart with each rejection. It's happening again… The white crow.

You run until your lungs feel like they're ready to burst, then stop by a brick wall, gasping and wrapping shaking arms around your body. The frigid air hits you like a wall now, cutting through your thin jacket to the skin underneath.

_It's freezing… It's empty… Everything is cold, cold, _cold—_and what's the point of it all?_

That's when you hear it, a voice, soft and inquiring from behind you.

_"Natsume-kun?"_

You turn, startling at the sound, and for a second the shadowed figure under the streetlamp frightens you. You've met so many youkai that pretend to be human, so many that _sound _kind, all to get close, desiring nothing more than human flesh to eat.

But the figure steps into the full light, continuing to speak, and you don't _think _it's a youkai. It—_she—_looks human, a woman with kindly eyes and a bright smile, all bundled up in winter clothes.

_"Are you Natsume Takashi-kun?" _she says, and you're struck by how _gentle _her voice is, even though you're confused about why she knows your name.

_"Um…" _you stammer, because what is there to say? This woman is strange, but you don't back away. She really doesn't seem like a youkai as she comes closer. In fact, there's something about her that's _warm, _nothing like the creatures that trace your steps.

_"I'm sorry," _she says with a smile. _"I heard you were living here, so I came to see how you were doing. And look at me! I'm so happy to see you."_

The confusion hits. She's… she's _happy _to see you? There has to be some kind of mistake. You can't remember a time when anyone was happy to see you, but the woman keeps talking, and she really _does _sound pleased.

_"My name is Fujiwara Touko. I'm a distant relative of your father."_

She comes closer to stand beside you, and her tone becomes one of concern as she asks softly, _"Where are you going?"_

_ "Out for a walk." _The lie rolls easily off your tongue, perhaps _too _easily. After so many years, you've learned how to answer quickly with half-truths and excuses. It's second nature now, though you wish it weren't.

But the woman, Fujiwara-san, seems distressed by your answer, and almost immediately she replies, _"No, it's dangerous to be out this late! Go home!"_

It doesn't sound unkind, but the words bite anyway. Go home. It wouldn't even _be _your home in a few more weeks. It didn't even really feel like one to begin with. You don't want to go back to that, back to the anger, the whispered discussions where they thought you can't hear, back to the cold room, kept so bare because by now you know there's _no point _in unpacking your things anymore. You'll just have to move again. Better to keep it all in a box.

Unconsciously, you turn your head away so the pain on your face doesn't show, but the woman seems to read it there anyway.

_"Do you not want to?" _she pries gently, and almost before you can think, the denial is out of your mouth.

_"No, that's not it." _You tack on a smile to make it seem more genuine, though you can tell even without a mirror that it's a fragile little thing. Fujiwara-san smiles back.

_"I see. Come on, you'll catch cold. Go on home."_

She's so kind, the gentle, worried prod in her voice reminding you achingly of what a mother _should _sound like. It's the first time anyone's spoken to you that way, compelling you softly to turn back down the street. You give her a bow and bid her goodbye, and then it's back into the dark, back into the cold. You look one last time over your shoulder.

She's waving.

You're not sure why, but that simple gesture makes a lump rise in your throat.

The next day, you wake up again to another day, but somehow it hurts more, knowing that you'll endure the hours alone. Fujiwara-san's tiny show of kindness only makes the loneliness more painful. You wonder if you'll see her again, or if she was even human. You want her to be—so, _so _badly, but you know that life has never played that way.

You drift home after school, listening to conversations on the street and feeling so detached from it all, like a leaf floating by, hardly noticed, here today and gone tomorrow. You watch your feet as you walk, absently glancing at a woman standing at the end of the road. It isn't until you've almost passed her that you hear her voice, that you _recognize _her.

Fujiwara-san.

You greet her carefully, almost worried that her kindness from last night will be gone, that she'll treat you like all the others. You don't want that one shining memory to be diminished by prejudice. But, no, she's just the same as she was, apologizing for the way you met last night, and explaining why she had come—

_"Would you like to come live with us?"_

The question hits you hard, and every thought but one slams to a stop.

_She wants you. She _wants _you._

She and her husband, they want you to come live with them. They're not taking you on out of duty, or pressure from your desperate guardians. They want you. No one has ever _wanted _you before. It's always been about doing it because they _had _to, because no one else would take you in.

The Fujiwaras _want you._

The rest of that day is a flurry of hope and anxieties. Was Fujiwara-san serious? Does she know about the rumors? Will she change her mind if she finds out about all your supposed "lies?"

… Are you even allowed to have this after all this time? Will you find a _home _this time?

But when you get home later that evening, floundering between that hope and despair, hampered by a youkai wanting to feed off the loneliness that threatens to crush you when you think that maybe Fujiwara-san was lying, you're told the truth.

The Fujiwaras had been to your house. They'd… they'd told your guardians that they wanted to take you. They were serious. They really meant it.

They wanted you, and for the first time in your life, you want something too. Something real, within your reach, something that whispers a promise of the life you've always dreamed of.

Someone wants you, and now the hope flares to life, a burning fire long dormant that ignites your whole being.

You want this. You want this. You want this!

You're out the door so fast, you hardly even realize you've moved. The youkai that's been haunting you, the one that wants to keep you as a pet, the one you'd almost_ listened to,_ is still out there. It's the only thing standing between you and that suddenly tangible hope the Fujiwaras have given you, and you're going to fight for it.

You've always been afraid of youkai, but now you face them, make them tell you how to get rid of the one that follows you. You_ will_ have this. This promise is not going to be torn away, not even by a tenacious spirit.

You're not sure how, but you lock it away, that youkai that's been draining your soul of its fire, and the scream of defiance that tears out of you as you seal it feels so_ freeing._

But the triumph turns to panic as the explosion of power knocks you back… Back off the cliff.

_How is this fair!?_

The branches scrape against your fear-filled face, rake your arms and tear at your clothes. You can't see the ground coming, but you watch the stars above you fall away. Your back hits the ground, a rock grinding into your spine as your head slams the earth, and the world goes dark.

You don't know how much time has passed since then, but when you regain consciousness, you're in a bed. Not yours—a white, sterile one with sheets that smell of detergent.

_A hospital._

Your head aches, and the light stabs your eyes, but those pains mean nothing as you realize that you've caused trouble for your relatives again. It's alright. You didn't expect them to keep you for much longer anyway.

You're not sure when you fall asleep, but all at once you're waking up to voices, one familiar, one not, that whisper above you.

_"Oh, my… He's asleep."_

It's a woman. She's the one who sounds familiar, though you're not sure why… Your head still hurts. Your thoughts feel muddled.

A man's voice shushes her gently.

_"You need to be quiet or you'll wake him up."_

_ "True."_

Your eyes slide open, and the faces of those speakers come into view. You recognize the woman, and suddenly you remember whose voice that was.

_"Fujiwara-san?" _you question quietly, half in confusion, half in disbelief. Why is she here?

The two people start at his voice, and almost immediately the man chastises gently, _"See? You woke him up."_

Fujiwara-san turns back to the man—you assume he's her husband, the one she mentioned before—and answers, _"You were talking, too, Shigeru-san!"_

_ "Well, I guess…" _he responds, and for some reason, you can't help but laugh at the exchange. They seem to love each other so much…

_"Takashi-kun." _It's the man, Shigeru-san, who addresses you, and the gravity of his tone steals your mirth away. His face is serious, but his eyes appear kind as he goes on.

_"If you don't like it with us, you can leave whenever you like. But for now, you need a quiet place where you can think."_

He smiles and adds,_"Our place is as quiet as you can get," _before his expression turns earnest again.

_"Come with us."_

Three words. Just three words is all it takes, and suddenly all the emotions you've tried to hide threaten to spill out. But you sit up, ignoring their insisting calls that you stay down, and muster up another smile. You want them to know how happy you are, you _need _them to know.

_"I want to go…" _you say, trying to fight the tremble in your voice. _"I want to go with you. Please."_

The last word is a plea, and you realize suddenly that this is _real, _that this is happening and _they want you. _Your so grateful, and just so _happy,_ that you can't hold back the tears anymore. The smile fades, and even though you want to keep up the act, your face crumples.

_"Please…"_ you say again, but this time it's more than a word, it's a desperate ache that you hope reaches them.

_Please take me with you. Please don't push me away. Please… Please take me_ home.

The tears begin to fall, and the Fujiwaras are by your side in an instant, concern apparent on their faces, concern for_ you._

And as Shigeru-san gently pats your shoulder and Touko-san holds your hand in hers, that damning title that's been following you like a wraith all these years falls away.

You're not a white crow any longer. You belong.

With these people, you've finally come home.

•

**Me: Alright, let's write a Natsume fic!**

**My brain: Write it in the second person**.

**Me: What? Why?**

**My brain: You gotta.**

**Me: *writes fic in second person***


End file.
